ong the rocks:
she was watching its flight--it ascended into the blue sky, and was lost
to sight. She sauntered a few steps on one side of her seat, then on the
other, and looked around her. "I wish her brother would return to her,"
thought I again. She shaded her eyes with her hand, and looked up: but
vainly! The shadows had crept apace up the mountain side: her seat was
no longer sunny, but she sat down again.

I had by this time become, I knew not why, rather nervous: my hand shook
so, that I could not fix the glass. I laid it down, and went to take a
turn in my garden. I came back presently to the window, and once more
turned my glass in the direction of the mountain. The seat was vacant.
"They are coming down together, I hope," thought I. "It is high time
they should; it is becoming dark and chilly!" But I could not trace
them. At length I saw something white fluttering in the breeze. It was
so small that I should not have discerned it, if my very power of sight
had not been sharpened by the anxiety I began to feel for these young
people. By intently gazing--by straining my sight to the uttermost, I
made out that the young lady was standing on a point of rock, lower
down, and more conspicuous than that on which she had been seated. She
had tied her handkerchief to her parasol, and was waving it, no doubt,
as a signal to her brother. My heart turned sick, and I could see no
more. I looked at my watch, and found that it was nearly three hours
since they had begun their ascent. The next consideration was, what I
ought to do. If I had been certain that the brother had lost his way, it
was, no doubt, my duty to send persons from the inn, to find him. But
how did I know that any peril existed, excepting in my own imagination?
He might have ascended before, and be perfectly acquainted with the
descent; he might be gone in search of some particular view, and have
prepared his sister for the length of his absence, as she was too much
fatigued to accompany him. In this case, any interference of mine would
be impertinent. What should I do? I leaned out of my window, as if in
the hope of seeing some object, which should help me to a decision. Such
an object was just before me, in the person of an old fisherman, a
next-door neighbour, and very honest friend of mine. "Come hither,
John," said I; and I stated the case to him. He thought we need not fear
any danger. The mountain was not very high; he knew of no dangerous
places on